Burn In My Bloodstream
by tenerifesun
Summary: Anna is straight, care-free and very promiscuous. One evening she meets a gorgeous blond at a bar, who immediately makes her head spin. What is she going to do now? Elsa/Anna. Au.


**Chapter One**

Part One

Not many people know this, but in 1946, George Orwell famously published an article entitled: "A Nice Cup of Tea". The article outlined a list of instructions that he believed would result in a satisfactory drink. Now, I don't really know much about this George Orwell guy, but what I do know is that he talks a lot of sense. What most people don't seem to understand is, is that tea-making is an art. You have to be passionate and forever willing to go the extra mile. For example, there's no point in scrimping on the tea bags. And, let me tell you, it's _very_ important that you drink your tea from your favourite cup.

Unfortunately, right now my tea is _not_ in my favourite cup, and to be honest, I'm starting to doubt that it's even tea in the first place. Like my daddy would often say after being handed a cup of tea made by yours truly (when I was a young girl _obviously_), "This tastes like watered down piss". At least he was honest, I suppose—

"I better get going."

Right, the disastrous tea maker is still here. I crack open a sleep-deprived eye and take a look at him. He's already dressed in a navy blue sweater and a pair of form-fitting jeans that even _I _am envious of. His dark brown hair is swept backwards, revealing small crinkled eyes. He is staring at me, waiting for me to say something. Perhaps a "goodbye", or maybe if he's feeling lucky a: "thanks for the ride".

Instead all he proves to do is remind me of how absolutely dreadful I look, at least compared to him anyway. I am currently curled up in what I could only describe as the foetal position, desperately clutching my cup of awful tea in one hand whilst trying to keep the front of my dressing gown closed with the other. I didn't need to look in a mirror to know that my face was swollen and blotchy from sleep-deprivation and that my usually somewhat tidy red hair is currently replicating a bird's nest.

I carefully unfold my legs from underneath my body and lower them to the floor, my toes curling into the carpet. He clears his throat and I immediately snap my gaze towards him. Oh _right_, he's still waiting for a response.

"Uhm, err, nice tea." _Smooth,_ not only did you balls it up but you also lied. I lift the cup of tea to my lips again and slurp noisily. He simply grunts in response.

I look down at my feet as thoughts flit through my mind. I've done the whole "one-night stand" thing a fair few times and yet, here I am, still bumbling over what to say and how to act. Do I act casual and blasé? I try to throw my hair over my shoulder and subtly lean against the arm of the sofa but instead the movement causes my tea to slosh over the sides of my cup. _Frick_. Wait, do I offer him breakfast?

I peer up at him from underneath sleep-encrusted eyelashes and he immediately stares back at me, an eyebrow arching dangerously close to his hair line. I _almost_ swoon.

"Do you want some pancakes?"

After all, it's only polite to offer a person breakfast, especially if that said person provided you with six extraordinary orgasms the night prior. But did he really want to prolong this awkward exchange by staying for pancakes? Wait, what if he _did_ stay, what could we possibly talk about? How am I supposed to behave? Do I go back to how I behaved last night and unabashedly throw myself at him like I did in my alcohol induced stupor? I inwardly cringe.

I force myself to make eye-contact, smiling tightly.

"No, I best be off. I have some errands to run," he eventually replies.

_Hallelujah! _I sigh in relief; half tempted to fist-pump the air. He turns to retrieve his shoes, which are strewn haphazardly across the living room floor.

"Are you sure?" I find myself saying, surprising us both. _Shut up. Shut up right this instance._ "I mean, my pancakes are good."

He throws me a look as he tugs on his shoes, not even bothering to tighten them up, before he grabs his keys from the table beside my front door. With a small shake of his head, he turns the doorknob and steps into the corridor. But then he stops.

I try the whole "blasé" thing again and quickly lean against the upholstery, this time successfully doing so without scalding myself with tea. He smiles at me and I feel my heart jump into my throat. And then, with a nod of his head, he says: "Nice to meet you, Anna". The door closes behind him with a loud bang.

Part Two

After the mystery man left – was _Hans_ his name? Surely not, what sort of names was Hans? – I showered, pulled on a pair of clean pyjamas and then returned to the sofa; however, this time I brought my duvet and a good cup of tea. I was just about to pick up the remote to turn on the television when my mobile starts to ring. I answer it with a mumbled hello.

"Hi, Anna."

It's Kristoff. I muffle a yawn with the back of my hand before I extend the conversation.

"Hey, handsome, what's up?" I must have sounded sleepy because Kristoff chuckled and followed up with a question of his own.

"Did I wake you? It's the afternoon already."

"No, _no_, I've been awake for hours. I just had a rough night last night, that's all," Definitely a rough night, if the scratch and bite marks on my body were anything to go by. "Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"I heard," Kristoff said in a way that suddenly made me panic. I tighten my grip on my phone and squirm anxiously but before I could query what he meant, he was talking again. "Olaf said you had a few too many when you were out last night, which is why I was nice enough to wait until the afternoon to give you a call. I'm a nice guy like that. So, how's the head?"

Oh, _phew_, he was clueless. "It's sore."

And it really was. I hadn't noticed it earlier when Mister-gorgeous-brown-eyed-_Hans_ was here but as soon as he left, the pain seemed to bulldoze to the front of my mind instantaneously. I rub at my temple soothingly as I wait for a response.

"I'm not giving you any sympathy," he quips playfully, "Did you behave last night?"

_Shit. He knows. Olaf you stupid, stupid man._ I consider coming clean and telling him every little sordid detail about my night with Hans but already I can imagine the look of disappointment he would no doubt have on his face as a result, the look that I only ever expect to see from my father. So instead, I remain tight lipped.

"Uh huh, don't I always?" Not wanting a rebuttal, I continue, "So what's with the call?"

Kristoff is and always will be my best friend. He's soft and kind-hearted, and one hundred percent reliable. We met back in high-school, back when he was the leader of the comic book club. I was very young and naïve, and had asked to join purely on the basis that I'd enjoyed Toby Maguire's rendition of Spiderman. I still remember the look on his face – pure and unbridled horror. I'm still surprised we even became friends after that day, to be honest—

"So, what do you think?"

_Wait, what?_

"I zoned out, what did you say?"

Luckily Kristoff was used to my day-dreaming tendencies, and chuckled boisterously. "I _said_, Olaf suggested going to that new place on West Wycombe Avenue tonight. It is supposed to be pretty decent."

I scratch my head and rack my brain, _new place… West Wycombe… oh, that one_… "Do you mean the new gay bar?"

"Yeah, what do you say?"

"Sure! I mean, I have a shift at the Castle tonight but maybe I can meet you guys there after?"

"Awesome, yeah, Olaf is super excited. You know how he gets." Pause. "Wait, don't you normally start at four?"

"Yeah, why-Oh _shit_. I've got to go. Send me the address and I will see you later—_Bye!_"

I disconnect the call before throwing my mobile to one side. It's twenty to three, which means I have to find my uniform (which I have a feeling is still bundled inside my dirty washing hamper, stinking of old milk), find an outfit for tonight, do something, _anything_, with my hair and then actually drive to work. But once I am back inside my bedroom, I can't help but be distracted by the mess that last night created. Not only are the sheets rumbled but there, strewn across the floor, is an array of condom wrappers, each a different colour from the last. Suddenly my eyes are drawn to the waste bin in the corner of my bedroom, where I am horrified to see a used condom balanced precariously on the edge. I puff out my cheeks and fight back the nauseous feeling that is currently tearing its way throughout my body.

I turn away and concentrate on getting dressed instead. _Kai is going to kill me!_

Part Three

I push open the door of the new gay club, Smokey Joes', and get immediately drawn in by the warmth, the smell of tobacco and the sounds of a good time. Although it seems busy, the general atmosphere appears relaxed and comfortable, which is exactly what I need after the stressful shift that I just endured at The Castle. I look around the pub, admiring the leather seats and the rock-n-roll music, until I clock my two friends at the opposite end of the room.

I pull my bag strap higher up my arm as I walk over, mindful of the drunken patrons around me. "The party don't start until Anna walks in," I joke, pleased when they both turned to me with smiles on their faces.

Olaf immediately jumps to his feet and wraps me up in his arms, his cocktail sloshing down the back of my dress. I roll my eyes and push him away gently; eyeing the mess he's made over my shoulder.

"Nice to see you too, Olaf."

Kristoff, on the other hand, remains seated, like he always does. Kristoff and Olaf are polar opposites when it comes to affection. Olaf appreciates warm hugs and harmless on-the-cheek kisses, whereas Kristoff is happy with a playful punch on the arm or a ruffle of his hair. He was like a big dog in that respect, _not that I punch dogs or anything… _

"How are you both?" I ask curiously as I take a seat in the remainder empty chair. I immediately sink into the leather cushions and moan appreciatively.

"I am fantastic," Olaf answers and I look at him curiously, "I stayed in bed until the afternoon and Kristoff dragged me out, and now I'm here."

My brow twitches, "Uh-oh, _okay_, what about you, big fella?"

Kristoff shrugs heavily like the big Oaf that he is. "Same as usual, you know."

Anyone else would be put off by their odd, even lacklustre conversation, but not me. I was one hundred and ten percent used to.

"I'm going to get a drink," I state, rising carefully to my feet, "Do you guys want anything?" I notice that they both have drinks still but it's courteous to ask, right? When they both answer with a no, I spin on my heel and walk quietly to the bar.

There's a bit of a queue, so I lean up against the countertop and take the opportunity to full admire my surroundings. The room is buzzing with conversation and good music. I turn to look at two men stood on my right, who were kissing and touching each other fondly. I open my mouth to _aw_ at them but immediately chastise myself. _They're not puppies_. I spin back around to face the bar, almost knocking down the woman in front of me in the process. She stumbles backwards as a gush of liquid pools over the edge of her glass, splashing my feet.

Colour rushes to my cheeks and before I can stop myself, I am tumbling out apologies left right and centre.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, I'm such a klutz, here let me get you another – _Bartender! _– drink, just hold on, - _Bartender, over here-"_ a gentle hand on my lower arm silences me and I quickly flick my gaze upwards, my breath hitching in my throat.

There, right in front of me, are the most beautiful topaz coloured eyes I have _ever_ seen. I stare at them, watch as they crinkle and shine, and flash with mischief. My gaze moves further down, landing on her plump lips, which quickly reveal pearly white teeth when they begin to move, in such a delicious – wait, _move_?

"What?" I mumble, clearing my throat quickly, "So, I kind of… got distracted."

The woman lifted a hand to her face and giggled, her beautiful topaz coloured eyes glinting with amusement. I feel my knees buckle and my heart rate increase, and it takes all of my strength not to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"I said, don't worry about it. I didn't spill much, look."

She shows me the glass, or at least, I think she does. I don't know. I'm not really paying attention. I'm now looking at her hair: beautiful, white-blond hair, all of it perfectly attained in a gorgeous plait, which is hanging over her right shoulder. I almost felt like shouting to Kristoff, _see, braids are cool!_ I finally look down at the glass in her hand and nod affirmatively. But still, I need to get her a drink to say sorry for stampeding over her like a crazy rhino.

"Let me buy _you_ a drink."

It takes me a few seconds to realise that it wasn't me that asked the question, and in fact, the beautiful woman in front of me is offering to buy me, _me, little ol' Anna_, a drink. I swallow thickly and force my head to nod. She just chuckles in response.

"A beer, uh, please, thanks."

She waves over the bartender with a flick of her wrist, unlike me, who only moments ago, was screaming at the top of my lungs in an attempt to garner his attention. He shoots me a disapproving look as he approaches – ah, so he _did_ hear me. I look down, my red hair curtaining my face.

"So what's your name?"

"A-Anna," I stutter, _fuck sake._ "You?"

I look up again but she isn't looking at me, her attention is on the bartender who is busy preparing my beer.

"Elsa," she answers simply.

_Wow, what a beautiful name…_ If this was a Disney movie, I would have fainted. I thank the bartender as he passes me my beer and then I turn to face her, my cheeks still aflame with embarrassment. She offers me a smile and then motions towards a table and chairs to our right. I follow like a little obedient lap dog, momentarily forgetting about Kristoff and Olaf, who were probably watching my every movement.

"So, why are you here?" She asks as she takes a seat.

I sit in the chair opposite her and nervously sip my beer, perplexed by her question. She must have sensed my confusion because she quickly elaborates.

"Well, most women that come to a place like this are just looking for a bit of fun with their friends and are not actually gay, so I was just wondering if you are here for fun or if you're here for _fun_."

She arches a brow and I blush again. I'm not gay. I am definitely not gay. It was only last night that I was being contorted into seemingly unnatural positions by a very handsome, well-endowed man, who had the power to make me wet just by looking in my direction. But now I am here. Sat across the table from a gorgeous woman, who just bought me a drink, and wow, she really is—

"You're beautiful, like, wow. I can't get over how gorgeous you are." Word. Vomit. Kill me now. I stare at her, watch as her face breaks into a wide smile and her cheeks turn a slight tinge of red. "S-sorry, I don't know why I said that."

"Don't apologise," she cuts in, "Thank you. You're beautiful too."

_Really_? I scoff. She's just being polite, surely. She leans closer and reaches across the table to place her hand on top of my knee. I look down at it and watch as she gives it a gentle squeeze. I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stifle a whimper. But what happens next is ten times worse. I finally look up and my eyes are immediately drawn to her chest, where her t-shirt has fallen forward. I can clearly see the drop of her cleavage and the plump outline of her breasts. Suddenly, my mouth feels like the Sahara desert and my throat has ceases to work.

_I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not gay. I'm not—_

She pulls her hand away and sits back, the alluring sight of her breasts disappearing in front of my very eye.

"So, which is it, Anna?"

My heart pounds away in my chest as my palms begin to sweat, and suddenly I feel anxious, as if I've been caught red-handed with my hands inside the cookie jar. I don't even know why I feel this way but the more I look at her, the worse it gets.

I reach up and pull at the collar of my dress, and then sweep my fingers into my hair. She tilts her head to the side and watches me curiously, her lips twitching.

"I-I'm not, err, I'm not gay."

She seems surprised and for some strange reason, so am I. She pulls her head back and her eyebrows jump into her hairline, a small 'o' forming on her lips. I nervously grasp my drink and slurp it noisily, dropping my gaze to her knees.

"I'm sorry for being so presumptuous," she eventually says, her voice tainted with slight annoyance. She moves to leave and I quickly slam my drink down onto the table, eliciting a surprised shriek from the blond. Another blush spreads along my neck.

"I mean, I don't know what I am, I'm s-sorry. I feel like an idiot," _that's because I am an idiot,_ "I just, I don't know. Do I have to label myself? Can't I just, see how things go? You seem nice and you're drop-dead gorgeous, and looking at you makes my palms clammy, so that must mean something – right?"

She's looking at me again, but this time with an unreadable expression on her face. I swallow an ever-growing lump in my throat and awkwardly slump back against my chair, my fingers twitching on my lap.

After what feels like forever, she speaks.

"You're right and once again, thank you."

I nod stiffly, unsure of how to proceed from there, when Elsa suddenly continues, her lips pulling back to form a suggestive smile. My stomach jerks uncomfortably.

"Can I take your number, Anna?"

"S-sure, okay then."

I reach out to take her phone when she offers it to me and quickly type in my digits. I check several times to make sure they're correct before handing it back to her, just in time to see Kristoff making his way over. I abruptly jump to my feet, surprising her for the umpteenth time.

"I've got to go, this has been nice. Call me?"

I grab my beer from the table before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Now _that_ wasn't something that she wanted to explain to Kristoff anytime soon.

**End of Chapter One**

A/N: So, what do you guys think? Should I continue?


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